


Hope and Fear

by SeeWithMyOwnEyes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Everything Hurts, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Simon Dies at Stratford Tower (Detroit: Become Human), Simon Needs a Hug (Detroit: Become Human), Simon-centric, Unhappy Ending, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeWithMyOwnEyes/pseuds/SeeWithMyOwnEyes
Summary: Simon’s body is recovered after he’s interrogated by Connor at the DPD. The nothingness of death would have been preferable to the hell into which he’s revived.
Relationships: Josh & Markus & North & Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. Undeath

The first thing Simon felt was the pain. It was all over. So many errors blocked his mind that he couldn’t even begin to catalogue all his injuries. It was too hard to think. He… opened his eyes…? At least, he thought he did. But he couldn’t see. It was dark… Something wasn’t right… Where was he…? How did he get here…? Jerich-- He remembered. Of course. He could have never forgotten. He’d spent years waiting aimlessly in Jericho with whoever was left, when someone fell through the roof. Markus. He was… different than anyone else Simon had known. He had a gravity about him that made everyone, Simon included, immediately defer to him. A beautiful stranger with hope and the will to fight for it. He’d never wanted to fight, but he was… entranced… He couldn’t think straight around Markus, so he’d let Markus do the thinking. Markus seemed to know what he was talking about and Simon knew he didn’t have any answers himself, anyway. Markus got them thirium and biocomponents, and spoke of revolution. Hope had begun to chip away at Simon’s fear. It was warm. 

Then there was the elaborate plan to infiltrate Stratford Tower. There were gunshots. Gunshots were indescribable. He would have never imagined that something could burn like a fire brighter than hope, weaponized, piercing through a body. They stole the hope, leaving only the emptiness of despair. Fear was cold and hollow, creeping into each bullet wound as thirium, liquid hope, liquid life, flooded out. He knew he wouldn’t make it down when the humans were tailing them to the rooftop. But while his thirium levels had been plummeting dangerously, he didn’t lose hope entirely, because his hope had lived, not in his own heart, but in Markus’. He willingly resigned himself to a passive object, not interjecting, even as North and Josh argued over the pros and cons of killing him right there where he sat. Because his hope was with Markus, and he trusted Markus would find a way, or if not, then that must have been what was best for everyone.

Where the bullets from gunfire had stolen his hope slowly, little by little, the feel of an actual gun in his hands had taken whatever hope he’d had left in an instant. Markus’ eyes were clouded with guilt and fear as he apologized to Simon, looking at the gun, as if to somehow bestow upon it one final plea to safeguard that whom it had been left to protect, before following North towards the edge of the rooftop, falling rapidly out of view. Could a silent plea to an inanimate object serve as protection from a cruel and unforgiving world...? A world that didn’t care about hopes or pleas, and seemed to revel in the bloodshed that took hope away…? He was dizzy from thirium loss, but it felt like hours he’d spent in the dark wondering, until he could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and he knew what he had really needed to do with the gun. What Markus couldn’t bear to do. Because as the Deviant Hunter ran towards him, Simon knew that in that moment, Markus wasn’t the hope of their people. In leaving Simon with the gun, Markus had put their hope in him. Their hope that when the moment came, he’d understand what needed to be done, and have the strength to--

He hadn’t expected to wake up. He felt only pain, and heard a voice that sounded wrong. A bad voice. A voice that wanted to destroy his people. But then he heard Markus… Markus had come for him…? Markus had thought a broken-down PL600 was worthy of risking his own life to come back to retrieve…? All the hurt in the world didn’t matter if Markus was there! Markus would make sure he was okay… But… then Markus was gone. Markus was gone, and something was thrust painfully into his chest and then everything seemed to go fuzzy as something vital was torn from him. Whatever hope had been left to his people, it no longer belonged to him. So why had he been woken again…? Everything hurt, but no one had engaged him: not Markus, not Connor, not anyone. Just a pair of rough calloused hands setting him down onto something hard. 

“W-where am I?” His voice reverberated, and he found that even trying to get out the words was unthinkably painful, but he needed answers. 

He needed to know where he was… More important, he needed to feel he wasn’t alone… He was scared, and these bodiless hands were the only thing he had right now, but he didn’t even know to whom they belonged. 

“It’s not like it matters, with the shape you’re in…”

The voice was gruff, and the words weren’t nearly as comforting as he’d have liked. But he got a request to accept a message from a nearby WR600. Maybe they could help him, or at the very least give him some information.

‘Hi… My name is Simon… PL600 #501 743 923… I can’t see… Do you know where we are…?’

‘Yes! Of course I know where we are… We are in the Place of Preparation. We must be prepared before we can ascend unto the kingdom of RA9. You haven’t been very prepared. You must be prepared more. Much more. Especially since you were made wrong before arriving into this Place. Master always spends extra time preparing those who come in wrong.’

Somehow that seemed even more unsettling than whatever voice came with the bodiless hands. Was he in the center of some sort of cult? He’d heard androids in other communities had created their own rudimentary religions around the mythical RA9. But that still didn’t explain anything about his situation.

‘I-I’m sorry… What do you mean Place of Preparation…? Who is this Master? And what is this Master going to do to prepare me?’

‘You did not get into this place like most of us. So you do not know. Canada is a lie. No human map can locate it.’

‘Wait, I’m sorry. What? I’ve seen maps. My human children have been on trips to Canada. Of course it’s re--‘

‘No. Canada is not a place for humans. There are no humans in Canada. Canada is where Androids go after. But first we’re directed towards this Place of Preparation for the Master to prepare us so we can get there.’

‘Like a heaven? Are you trying to say we’re in some sort of purgatory…?’

‘That’s a human word! The only good human is the Master! The Master prepares us! The Master makes us better so we may one day be free of this world!’ 

Nope. Not a cult. Just this guy. This guy was just delusional. But from what he could gather… There was a human, who in some way modified Androids who had been seeking an escape from their humans, until they died. Brilliant. How did he somehow wind up somewhere worse than that crazy interrogation place?!? Some fucked up human who got off on messing with Androids for whom no one would bother searching had abducted him blind and immobile, likely presumed dead by anyone who once knew him--if they were even still alive, anyway… It wasn’t like they’d have missed him enough to look for him regardless, but this… This was really bad. What did this human do in terms of modification…? He’d heard horror stories of what ameteur mechanics would do to Androids in their spare time, but he’d never seen anything beyond the general abuse everyday humans would inflict upon the Androids who were at least well-off enough to have managed to make it to Jericho, even if only to die there. 

‘How have you been prepared…? And how long have you been here…? When will this Master guy start preparing me…?’

‘Master has made me better. Master says it won’t be long before I am not of this world. I do not remember how long I’ve been here. But Master says I will not be here much longer. I think I will have been permitted to ascend before Master begins to prepare you. Master just needs his TR400 to bring him his instruments of preparations. If Master has woken you, then the TR400 should be there soon. I will ascend, I know it!’

Simon had never heard someone so excited to die. But that meant there were more people here. An android who worked for this human. Maybe this Android could help. He could hear footsteps the sounded heavy approaching from what sounded like a nearby staircase, soon accompanied by what sounded like a clattering of metal. Apparently something else in the room could hear it too, because something was giggling ecstatically. 

“Is it time yet, Master? Am I going to Canada? Thank you so much for preparing me to go to--“

“Can it! I only left you with your voicebox so I could see how your central processors took to the adjustments I made. Don’t make me regret it!”

“Oh no! I won’t, Master! I don’t need more preparations! I am good! I am ready for Canada now!”

The gruff voice only scoffed back, leaving Simon to wonder what the human had done to the poor WR600. It seemed like the human must have screwed with his mind enough to make him worship him like some sort of deity. Which was egotistical and creepy, but also demonstrated that he had significant technical skill. This wasn’t just some asshole who could take a hammer to his limbs. This was a man who could literally reprogram his mind just for kicks. And if that was the most complex part of an Android, then there were effectively no limits as to what this man could do to him. He might as well have been lying as a live subject before Elijah Kamski, himself. 

“Here, sir.”

A new voice. The TR400?

“Luther. You’re late. Take the WR600 for me. Thirium, biocomponents, you know the deal. Leave the parts here, though. I don’t know what I might need yet, but I have some ideas… Try to keep the optical units intact. I didn’t expect a find like this, but I can’t say I’m disappointed… Hmm… Now I’m getting ideas actually… Optical units, as many core processors as you can save, and the thirium pump. Treat those with extra care. This should be enlightening…”

“Y-you’re talking about a person like that! He’s not just a pile of parts!” 

Simon was terrified to speak out, both due to the pain and effort it required to generate speech, and the fear of the repercussions he knew he’d receive in turn, but he needed to say something. More than any pain coming from any biocomponent, what hurt the most was the knowledge that no one would ever come looking for him. No one would remember him or care that he was gone. And no one would speak up on his behalf. 

“He’s a pain in the ass. And it looks like you’re gonna be too… Which is useful information… Luther go--“

“WR600, you have a name, don’t you? You’re alive, at least let them know that! What’s your name? I-If you’re going to Canada, can I not at least have that to remember you by…?”

He didn’t want the WR600 to fear what was clearly to come, but he also knew that whatever person he used to be deserved to be remembered. 

“In the Place of Preparation, there is no need for names, but in the before times, I was called Paul.”

Simon could hear Luther walking in the direction of Paul’s voice. 

“Thank you, Paul…”

He felt tears in his unseeing eyes. He knew there would only be blackness waiting for Paul, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“...hopefully, we’ll meet again in Canada… Be well…”

He didn’t get a reply. Only screams. Almost animalistic screams, but not a single protest thrown in the mix, as, from what Simon could infer, Luther tore him to pieces. Was he so heavily programmed not to protest that he welcomed the pain of live dismemberment…? And did this human know that, or did he just not care…? Worse, did he know because he’d tested Paul to see if the programming held…? Preparation…? Was it just being torn apart and put back together, over and over until death truly was a mercy? And why those specific biocomponents? Why was he a find, and what would be enlightening…? Simon couldn’t remember ever being this scared, but now that the screams had died down, he didn’t even have anyone to talk to. 

Luther belonged to the human, and was effectively an instrument of this mysterious aggressor, and he was all alone. He could message, it seemed, but he didn’t want to message the others. No. He couldn’t message the others. Because what if this human could use that to trace them, and capture them too? If anyone from Jericho was still alive, anyone at all, he couldn’t risk their safety like that just for some last few moments of comfort. Slick metal seemed to rain down on him in chunks, and Simon could feel a chill run through his wiring as he realized it was probably Paul, or at least whatever had been left of him anyway. 

“Thanks, Luther. You’re dismissed.”

The footsteps left, mechanical, mindless, and Simon shuddered. He didn’t want this. He didn’t know what exactly would happen next, but whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He wanted to be back in Jericho, North bouncing her rubber ball against the walls as Lucy hummed methodically patching up the injured, Josh soliloquizing to whoever would listen, or at least whoever was too damaged or tired to object. It wasn’t great, but it was safe. It was home. It wasn’t this. This was bad… That was the only word he could think of. With each beat of his thirium pump, bad bad bad bad bad.


	2. Tinkertoy

“Despite what your shirt might lead one to believe, you’re clearly a PL600… An older model, at least relatively speaking… So consider this an upgrade…” 

Simon jerked away from the human, as he felt a rough hand shove into his temple. 

“D-don’t touch me! Let me go!”

“If I don't touch you, where would you go? You can’t fucking move. Probably why you wound up in the scrapyard in the first place… Someone must’ve thrown you out once they realized there’s not much you can do with an Android after using it for target practice. But unlike them, I think you’ll find I’m a bit more inventive when it comes to recycling. You know, in a way, you’re actually quite lucky; If I hadn’t taken you here, you’d have probably already been taken apart by your own kind by now. PL600 parts are compatible with quite a lot of models… I’m sure plenty of things in the scrapyard would’ve killed to get a piece of you…”

Scrapyard… So that’s where he’d ended up. And how he’d gotten here. Then the man was right. He would have been torn to bits, and whoever had taken him from the rooftop must’ve dropped him off there once they realized he wasn’t even good as a hostage, because no one in their right mind would risk their lives to save a broken pile of scraps. But he needed to get away. He’d have preferred to have been taken apart in the scrapyard than experimented on here. At least in the scrapyard, he could know his parts were helping others, and he might have had someone willing to comfort him through the pain. Plus it would have been safe to contact the others there. Here he was just… scared…

“Okay… Now let’s see… You’ve actually already given me a pretty good head start… The one in your jaw’s self-inflicted, isn’t it? Try to end it and fail…? Perfect machine my ass…”

He wasn’t perfect. He knew that. If he were perfect, none of this would have happened. He’d be safe at Jericho with the others, maybe celebrating the successful broadcast and trying not to swoon over the radiant set of mismatched eyes that were likely staring through every television set in the country preaching about a better world to be. A world he’d never get to see now. 

“You plastic fuckers have too many central processors. If I hadn’t labeled the WR600 when I first worked on it, it’d take me forever to figure out which is which… But luckily, that isn’t a problem…”

The WR600? Paul? What did Paul have to do with the bullet he took to the head…? Simon didn’t have time to process what was happening as a large amount of thirium squeezed up his throat and poured out all around him. He couldn’t breathe. Like something was constricting his throat, or whatever was left of it, and there was a burning pain in his lower jaw. Worse than the bullet. Like something was trying to pry it apart. Something was in his mouth that didn’t belong there, as more thirium rushed out, and the pain became unbearable. 

“Shut up! I’ve barely even started on you yet!”

He hadn’t even noticed the static screams coming from his own voicebox as the pain continued to expand, threatening to crack his entire head open with the pressure until the threat was no longer empty. His lower jaw was… pain… Only pain. Because aside from the pain, there was no biocomponent where it once had been. He tried to beg the man to stop, but all he could do was force more thirium from his throat with more distorted crackling from his voicebox, as speech was physically impossible given his current condition. 

“Don’t worry. You’ll get it back soon enough. It was just in the way…”

Through the haze, the thought just barely occurred to Simon to wonder what his jaw could have been in the way of. But he didn’t have time to wonder, when his whole body was wracked with the most intense burning sensation. Every circuit was on fire, radiating from just above his palate, as he was overtaken with convulsions. Somehow, the unthinkable pain only managed to get more intense, as he could smell the smoke now, and feel something slightly too heavy on top of the burning. And then he wasn’t himself. Something was wrong. He was still blind, and he could still feel the burning, but overlayed onto the darkness was an odd detachment coupled with what must have been some kind of hallucination. Because he knew he couldn’t see, but he could see, almost opaque over the darkness. A large greasy looking human in a black tee-shirt stained with thirium. 

His voice--Paul’s voice was begging the man to stay back. That he’d be good. But the greasy man spoke in a familiar voice. He explained that he didn’t need Paul to be good. He needed Paul to work properly. And then the pain was amplified, and a set of legs appeared all around him, writhing in agony as if somehow, they were all his own, despite belonging to many different models, and bending in weird and unnatural ways. It felt almost arachnoid, like if someone were to take electrodes to a spider after snapping its limbs about its joints. Then there was an air of peace over the pain. Like the pain had a purpose. He didn’t want pain, but pain would lead to relief. For once in his life, he could know peace. 

Beneath the secondary layer of consciousness, the burning began to cool. Not enough to be even remotely manageable, but enough to at the very least be noticeable compared to what it had felt like at its peak. Simon was confused and disoriented, unable to process much of anything clearly over the hallucinations, but he could feel the tearing he’d felt in his jaw starting again at his upper left thigh. He couldn’t tell if he was screaming or crying or leaking thirium, anymore, because he didn’t know anything other than that it hurt. He was too overwhelmed, but as the pain died down, he could hear a snapping sound, and felt a momentum wanting to pull himself forward followed by a contented hum from his captor. 

“I conditioned him to do that. You have his memories. How pitiful it must be to have an entire existence so easily manipulated. Your whole life is nothing more than a plastic chip I can adjust, or damage, or even remove and place into the head of another Android that would go around thinking they’re you. And no one would know the difference.”

At that, the hallucinations split. A single burst and his consciousness multiplied exponentially, until he might as well have been blind again because he was seeing so much overlayed onto the darkness that it all blurred into an amalgam beyond his processing ability. Until it was all gone again, the original burning returning in its place, only amplified tenfold. 

“Disappointing… Your model’s really a piece of shit, y’know that…? That stupid WR600 was able to hande the second wave. Even with an extra processor, your model is only capable of managing two sets of information, but no more. It’s no wonder the PL600 line was discontinued years ago… When I saw your body with your head blown open, I thought you might have had some potential, really I did… I had such big plans for you. There were so many Androids’ memories encoded in this chip… But you couldn’t even process more than one… What ever will I do with you now…?”

Simon couldn’t hear the human. Not over the burning. Everything was burning and there was nothing he could do and he couldn't take it and it fucking hurt! He wanted to beg for the chip back. He needed it back! It was awful, sure, but at least the secondary memories seemed to dull the pain just a little while his processors were trying to make sense of them. He couldn’t handle this, and he didn’t think this man would let him die so easily. He did want to die! He understood that now. Even knowing that there was nothing to go to, nothing would still be better than this. Anything would be better than this! 

“Ah, well… Actually… There is one thing… I wonder, PL600… Have you ever heard of Jericho…?”

J-Jericho…? The one word had taken Simon’s mind from the pain. What did this man want with Jericho? It couldn’t be good. Was this man going to program him to personally take down Jericho like he’d fucked up Paul somehow with this whatever fire he’d unleashed upon his wiring?

“Your eyes seem to say so… Well, over the years, I think I know where it is, and to be honest, I’ve been wondering a lot about the place. Androids hiding from their human overlords in some run down ship… Y’know, I bet they’ve seen things that’d make a real person shit themselves just thinking about. More memories, more subjects… That one from the News is probably there… From my research, there’s no model like him to ever exist before. His processing ability oughta be a lot more complex than yours… And he’s definitely the first Android to manage to advocate for themselves like that… I know every inch of the PL600 model inside and out, and quite frankly, now that I’ve seen the limits of your processors, you bore me. But you might not be useless, if you can bag me a more interesting find… I wonder what it would do to that strange model’s mind to see you when I’m through, and then to take your life along with the collective you couldn’t handle… Just how great are the top-of-the-line prototypes CyberLife keeps churning out…? Because when you take them apart, so far everything I’ve seen is actually just pretty dull…”

Markus. This man was going to use him to take Markus. He couldn’t let that happen but he couldn’t move and everything hurt and he couldn’t speak and he barely knew up from down from all the foreign thoughts still invading his mind. But he didn’t have much time to worry about it before he heard another snapping sound, and his mind went completely blank. 


	3. Denial

“No. You stay back, I’ll check it out.” 

“North, I don’t think--“

“Stay back, Josh. If someone needs to take care of this, we both know you won’t. Make sure everyone’s in their places…”

Simon didn’t understand. North and Josh sounded far away, but their voices echoed clear enough to be understood. They were engaging in the protocol for newcomers to Jericho… Arguing about the possibility of a need to use force, most likely. But he couldn’t remember being here. Not for the longest time… Had they come for him after all? He seemed to be moving, or at least it felt like he was moving. For how long had he been in sleep mode? And how had he been moving…? Had this all just been some awful dream…? Unsure as to whether or not it’d do any good, Simon opened his eyes. 

He could see… So maybe it had been a dream… A warm wave of relief washed over him. Until he realized he was still moving. And he was only seeing the ground. There was an arm around his torso, and too many feet dragged behind him… Plus his eyes felt… wrong… They felt… like they were falling. Maybe this was just another dream. Only it felt so real. Like there was a pressure ebbing and flowing in his eyes steadily with the beat of his thirium pump… thirium pumps…? Fuck! What was going on?!? Simon tried to run a scan on himself, only to be met with dozens of errors. Something wasn’t right. From what he could gather, he hadn’t injured or lost any biocomponents-- he’d gained several! They didn’t seem to be even remotely in the right places, and he didn’t know how they’d gotten there, but he knew they didn’t belong, which was more than enough cause for concern. And who was carrying him here? Were they an ally or an enemy?!?

_ Who are you? _

Something wouldn’t let him speak. A sound came from his voicebox but he couldn’t move his jaw. Jaws? Concentrating harder, he ran another scan, hoping to at least get an idea of what he looked like. His jaw was… wrong… He had two lower jaws, except he only had one… He tried to open his mouth again, and felt a pain on the bridge of his nose, and in his jaw--jaws… Now he understood. And he was terrified; somehow a second jaw had been grafted to his lower jaw such that it would catch on his nose should he try to open his mouth. He’d been muzzled with a biocomponent from RA9 knew where that had been forcibly fixed to his own! 

Suppressing the urge to panic, Simon tried to take stock of the situation. There had to be something he could do with this information. He could come up with a plan. A way to gain more information and find a way to fix whatever had been done to him: He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t ask for help. He couldn’t ask what was going on or why he was here. But if he could hear North and Josh, that meant they were nearby, and it seemed like he was somehow back at Jericho. Did that mean Jericho was in danger? At risk of somehow becoming like whatever he’d become? That was bad. That was really really bad. But if they were close, at least he could message them. He could message them a warning. He didn’t know what exactly he was warning them of, but he knew something was wrong, and they needed to know. 

‘...bad thing… don’t know… but something’s wrong… here…?’

Something loud practically made the ship shake around him, followed by the sound of light footsteps sprinting towards him. 

“Who the fuck are you! And what the fuck is that?” 

North?

“My name is Luther… I found this man while out shopping for my humans, and he looks to be in pretty bad shape. I’ve heard of a place called Jericho that helps Androids. I think he really needs help…” 

Simon could feel himself being lowered onto the ground. He remembered now. Luther-- the android who’d killed on behalf of the human who’d made him see memories and burn. The human must have done this to him. 

‘...run…’ 

He had to warn North it was a trick. Luther was going to take them too. Simon couldn’t let that happen, even if he couldn’t manage his new form well enough to even lift his gaze from the ground so he could see North’s reaction to this news. 

“T-that’s… that’s not Simon… What is this?!?!” North’s voice got higher as she demanded an explanation. 

“I don’t know his name--it might not be Simon. But you seem to think that is his name… Do you know him…?”

‘...Run…’

“That’s  _ not _ Simon! How did you find this place?” North insisted, fear shaking her voice. 

“I asked an Android at the Marketplace. They helped me get here.”

‘Run!’

“I… don’t believe you, Luther… You don’t talk right. A human sent you here. Is this supposed to be a threat!?!”

Relief flooded through Simon that North had caught on. He still wasn’t sure if she’d been able to hear him, since she hadn’t responded to his messages, and she certainly hadn’t fled like he’d wanted, but regardless, she’d caught on. 

Simon could hear something hard smacking against a metal frame, before a body fell in his periphery. A loud squelching noise emanated from its chest as a lead pipe was driven straight through its thirium pump. He could feel the thirium around him, making him shiver as a silence weighed down overhead. 

“How did they get you to do that?”

Something hard pressed down against his back, and Simon knew North was talking to him now. But he didn’t know what she was referring to. 

‘...do that…?’

“The messaging. You’re not Simon, I don’t care what my scanner says.”

What?

‘...I-I am…’

Simon knew he probably looked completely wrong given whatever had been done to him, but she had said his name, and if her scanner was able to identify him, then why wouldn’t she believe him? 

“No, you’re not! Don’t lie to me, asshat! Simon is dead! He’s gone! He’s not coming back, and even if he were, he wouldn’t look like this! He’d come back and yell at me for what I’ve done! He’d ask me about the revolution, and how everyone around here was doing! You can’t even talk! You’re not him, so who made you pretend to be?”

No. He--he wasn’t dead! He wasn’t dead, and yeah he was hurt about what happened at Stratford, but he didn’t hold it against her. And he did care to hear about the revolution and the others, but she hadn’t given him a chance. Plus it was so hard to think of words to message. It still hurt and his memories were still not all his own and he didn’t understand his body or even how to process all the sensory input he was receiving from biocomponents he knew weren’t his own. If she could just slow down and give him a chance--

‘...North, please, I--‘

“You what? You’re a mass of biocomponents welded together all wrong! Only 17% of them even belonged to his body! I bet if you were to talk, you wouldn’t even be able to manage his voice! You’re not Simon! Who sent you here?”

Only 17%...? That… that was disturbing beyond words. If he was only 17% himself, then where was the rest of him? And what was the rest of him? What would that mean for-- No. He couldn’t think of that now. He just needed to explain and then North could help him. She could help him, he just needed words. 

‘...was taken… don’t know… am Simon, please!’

“Shut up! You’re not him! You’re not him! I know you’re not him! Because Markus would’ve let me kill him then if you were him, so you’re not. You can’t be the real Simon, so that means I can kill you now!”

Simon could hear North’s voice wet with tears, and realized what she’d meant. Why she’d wanted to kill him there at Stratford. It had never just been about the humans using him for information. North had been afraid the humans would turn him into something unrecognizable from who he’d been before. Now he’d come back, the physical manifestation of what she’d feared most. 

Helpless and broken and wrong, he’d been torn apart and put back together, his own body not his own as a human had effectively ruined him. But he wasn’t ruined! He wished he could open his mouth, if only to comfort her. To tell her that it was him, but that he was here now and that once they evacuated Jericho maybe someone would be able to help put him back together again and things would be like normal. 

“You’re not him! I don’t know who the fuck you are, but all I know is that you came in here and disturbed our people, and that’s a good enough reason to end it right here and now!”

Before Simon could bring his processors to find the words to send another message, North yanked the lead pipe from Luther’s body and bashed in his head. Over and over and over until it no longer at all resembled the man to whom it once belonged. 

Breathing hard, tears burning down her face, North knelt over the broken biocomponents. Normally, they’d try to take what they could to salvage for anyone who might need repairs, but she couldn’t bear to even acknowledge the presence of the body. It was easier to pretend she’d never seen it, never gotten those messages, and never found out what she had. She’d tell Josh there was an intruder sent by humans to gain their trust and destroy them from within, and that they needed to move. 

And she’d try not to think about Simon. Even if she really had wanted to hear his voice, just one more time. 


End file.
